


hollow

by YouAreMyDesign



Series: the pack [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Bathing/Washing, Bestiality, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Breeding, Breeding Bench, Breeding Kink, Chastity Device, Cock Cages, Collars, Creampie, Dom Will Graham, Exhibitionism, Knotting, Leashes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, Top Will Graham, Will Graham Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 08:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18117251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: He had a collar around his neck when Will found him, telling Will his name was 'Samson'.





	hollow

It takes a while for his dogs to get used to each other, when he brings in a new one. His new charge is a Great Dane, long-legged and large, and perfectly polite, doesn't growl or snap at any of the other dogs, doesn't snarl or show his teeth to Will or Hannibal, and seems mostly content to curl up and sleep, not on the dog beds, but beside Hannibal's crate, giving little huffs of pleasure whenever Hannibal reaches through the holes in the thin metal netting to touch his big, soft ears.

He had a collar around his neck when Will found him, telling Will his name was 'Samson'. And Samson is one of the stockier versions of his breed, his square jaw and powerful chest making him look quite intimidating, and he's all back with a thin streak of white between his forelegs. Will put up the obligatory 'Lost Dog' flyers, but there was no number to call on Samson's tag, and no one came to claim him, and as days turned into weeks, Samson made himself at home.

Hannibal takes a liking to him immediately, favoring play time with him above the others. Will smiles, watching the two of them wrestle, and loves how Hannibal doesn't protest the mud smearing across his bare shoulders and thighs, nor Samson's slobber as he drools and licks his face. He will likely want a bath later, but for now he is in Will's yard, collared and clothed only in a pair of underwear since the weather is so nice. Will watches his pack play, and explore, and run together, warm in his chest and happy.

After a while, the sun begins to set, and Will stands, clicking his tongue and giving a short, sharp whistle, to summon his dogs back inside. Buster comes in first, Winston and Charlie close behind, then the rest as they scuffle and sort amongst themselves who gets to sleep in which bed. Samson is last, following slowly as Hannibal comes back to the house, occasionally nuzzling his shoulder as if checking that he's okay.

Will smiles, and crouches down, cupping Hannibal's face and smearing his thumb through a streak of dirt on his cheek, laughing when Hannibal's eyes flash with vague displeasure, as if only just aware of the mud and the saliva on his skin. "I know, baby," he murmurs, and kisses Hannibal's grass-stained forehead. "Come on, come inside, I'll get you cleaned up."

Hannibal ducks his head, following Will in, and Samson brings up the rear, immediately going to his chosen place by Hannibal's crate and curling up, his head angled towards them, his big, brown eyes staring up as though begging Will to let Hannibal stay. Will takes Hannibal by the hair, and leads him upstairs where the guest bathroom is.

He gently eases Hannibal's underwear from his hips, down his legs, revealing his caged cock and plugged hole, and stays crouched as Hannibal shimmies out of them, edging towards the shower. Will smiles, goes to him, and leans down, carefully unbuckling the collar and revealing the only piece of Hannibal's skin that doesn't have some kind of stain on it.

He kisses, gently, at his flushed, exposed neck, and breathes out when Hannibal shivers and sighs. "Stand," he murmurs, and straightens when Hannibal looks at him, licks his lips, and clambers to his feet. He winces, knees protesting harsh wood, straightens and stretches, and then Will cups his face, their eyes meeting, and leans in.

When Hannibal is a dog, Will doesn't kiss him, not like this – not with a soft cling of lips and the touch of his tongue, coaxing Hannibal's jaws to part, to let him taste. But it is, he's found, the most effective way to bring Hannibal back from that mindset, to coax him into things like independent thought and poetic speech.

He shivers, when Hannibal's hands slide along his flanks – not pawing, but gripping with assuredness and intent, and when Will pulls back, Hannibal blinks, once, slowly, and offers him a smile.

"Will," he breathes, and Will smiles, and kisses him again, bringing him a little closer to his human self. He presses closer and Hannibal laughs, and it ends in a soft huff of protest. "Darling, please; I'm filthy."

Will grins at him, bright with humor. "Good thing we're right next to a shower, then."

Hannibal's eyes brighten, and he turns away, stepping into the shower as Will sheds his clothes. By the time he climbs in behind Hannibal, the water is pouring down in a thick, hot stream, onto Hannibal's head and shoulders, and Will hums, pressing close to him, seeking warmth and simply seeking the other man, and he wraps his arms around Hannibal's chest and presses his cheek to his shoulder – for a moment, simply enjoying holding him.

Then Hannibal sighs, and Will smiles – as a puppy Hannibal's patience can last forever, but as a man he can't stand the thought of being dirty for any longer than necessary. Will turns, and retrieves the shampoo, bringing a dollop of it to a lather between his hands before he reaches up, and gently starts washing Hannibal's hair. Animal or man, Will always likes to be the one to clean him.

Hannibal's shoulders sag, rolling, utterly relaxed against Will as Will cleans him. For a while, they merely exist in silence and warm water, the heavy patter of it hitting the bottom of the stall the only sound aside from their breathing.

Then; "Samson seems to like you."

Hannibal hums, noncommittally. "He's a very well-behaved animal, and much calmer than smaller breeds." Will grins, knowing of all his dogs, Hannibal finds Buster and Lola, both terriers, to be aggravating when they get it into their heads to run around and bark at any and everything they see. They're excitable animals, and when Will isn't home and Hannibal is left as a puppy, it wears on him. "I quite enjoy his company."

Will swallows, rubbing his thumbs up either side of Hannibal's spine, where it juts in the back of his neck, and tips his head forward, letting the water wash the shampoo from his hair. He leaves Hannibal there, and gathers body wash on his hands, working his fingers into the sore muscles of his shoulders, and down his back, as Hannibal wipes a hand over his face and straightens.

"How much do you enjoy his company?" Will says, and wonders if the water might cover up his words, so he can pretend he never said them.

Hannibal doesn't tense, but tilts his head, so Will can see the corner of his eye, his profile striking in the low, off-gold light of the bathroom. Will doesn't meet his eyes, but focused on his hands as he bathes Hannibal's back, which bears the worst of the grass and mud.

But Hannibal, when he's a man, has a sharp mind and keen sight, and doesn't shy away from asking questions, challenging Will's control over him; "Something on your mind, darling?"

Will flushes, and blames it on the heat of the shower. "He's not neutered," he says, clearing his throat, and spreads his hands wide around Hannibal's hips, turning him so Will can wash his chest as the water cleans his back.

Hannibal lets him work in silence, for a moment, before it becomes obvious that Will isn't going to say anything else. Then, his hand lifts, cupping Will's chin, forcing him to lift his head, and lift his eyes. Hannibal's gaze is dark with intrigue, and his head tilts.

He smiles, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the water, his hair slicked back on his head, and Will shivers, petting down his stomach. But he doesn’t drop his eyes, because he knows Hannibal won't allow it – a beast at heart, even without his collar on, the pendulum of control swinging between them until it rests, steady, in Hannibal's corner.

Hannibal smiles, showing his teeth. "Do you think he'll be able to breed me better than you do?"

Will swallows, and doesn't flinch, but his fingers curl. "It's not about that," he murmurs, but wonders, even as he says it, if it's a lie, because he definitely enjoys that aspect of their play.

"Of course not," Hannibal purrs. He doesn't ask what it is about – Will isn't sure he could even explain it. The thought of Hannibal, on his breeding bench, pinned and fucked by that giant dog isn't an unpleasant one, but Will thinks he would simply enjoy watching Hannibal, watching his puppy get bred. He doesn't get to see Hannibal's face when he does it, and he wants to. Wants to watch as he's fucked like an animal; wants to see his face when the knot catches. Wants to see his abused, sore hole clench desperately around more slick than Will could ever give him at once.

"If you're not into it, I won't mention it ever again," Will promises, and Hannibal releases his chin, lets him resume the task of getting Hannibal clean. Will crouches, spreading his hands down Hannibal's strong thighs, his knees, his calves, to his ankles. The body wash is thick and white in his hands, quickly washed away by the water as he makes sure to leave every inch of Hannibal spotless. "I'll take him to the vet first thing, if you don't want to."

Hannibal considers this with another hum, as Will finishes and straightens, pushing gently on Hannibal's chest so he steps under the flow of water, and can be rid of soap and lather. Hannibal's eyes close, and he tips his head back, showing his neck, head tilted to one side until his neck cracks, once, sharply, and he runs his hands through his hair again, slicking it back before he turns, and shuts off the water.

"I will consider it," he says. Will nods, licking his lips, his fingers curling. "But I think it would be an interesting exercise, if only to sate your curiosity."

"Just mine?" Will asks. The water barely touched him, but he's trembling and feels wet, and flushed, as Hannibal gives him a wide smile.

"No, darling," Hannibal murmurs, and cups Will's face, and kisses him until he's breathless. "Not just yours."

 

 

Will tries to put the thought out of his mind, and he mostly succeeds. The next time he has his puppy, he's at his desk, petting through Hannibal's soft hair as he grades papers without paying much attention to them. Hannibal's arms are around his ankles, and he might be asleep, Will isn't sure, but his breathing is even and heavy, Samson a warm and familiar presence at their sides. The door is open, the rest of the dogs running around outside where Will can see them, but Samson chose, as always, to remain by Hannibal and Will.

Hannibal stirs, after a while, and Will smiles, leaning back and looking down at him as he blinks, once, twice, his eyes sharpening slowly as Will cups his nape, flattens his hand over Hannibal's collar. Hannibal looks up at him with wide, dark eyes, licks his lips and gives a soft whine.

Will's head tilts. "Speak."

Hannibal's hands rise, drag with nails up Will's clothed calves, over his knees, and flatten on his thighs.

"Breed me," he whispers.

Will sucks in a breath, his fingers curling so tight around his pen that the plastic cracks in protest. His gut clenches with arousal, and he watches Hannibal's nostrils flare, his lips part in a wanton little gasp. Will stands, and pulls Hannibal to his hands and knees, coaxing him out of the crate with a hand in his hair, and leads him to the breeding bench.

"There we go, good boy," he murmurs, petting over Hannibal's shoulders and flanks as Hannibal settles, his chest low, his hips raised. After a moment, Will attaches the leash to Hannibal's collar, and then wraps the straps that they hardly use, that wrap below the kneepads, around the backs of his knees, and pulls them tight.

Hannibal shivers, and gives another soft, encouraging moan. Will examines the slitted plug, always inside him when he comes over, and he pushes his fingers into it, growling when Hannibal clamps down around him immediately, rocking his hips back as best he can, seeking more.

"You're eager for it today, aren’t you, sweetheart?" he says, raggedly, as he takes in the slick head of Hannibal's cock, caged as always, already leaking and dripping down to the floor. He pushes in with a third finger, stretching Hannibal wide, and fumbles at his clothes with his other hand, eager to get himself inside his puppy.

Hannibal's shoulders roll, arch up, as Will pulls the plug out and sets it on the bench by his flank. He whines as Will steps between his legs, spreading him out, admiring the subtle shine of lubricant on his red rim. He pushes against it with both thumbs, pulling him apart to reveal soft, clenching muscle, and smiles, and spits into Hannibal, using only that to slick him up enough so that, when Will fucks forward and sinks inside, Hannibal accepts him eagerly.

Hannibal makes a tense, ragged sound, and it's apparently enough to draw Samson's attention, for the dog rises as Will fucks in, ears perked up, and trots over to nose curiously at Hannibal's hands around the post that braces his chest.

Will snaps his teeth, growling in warning, and Samson steps back immediately, sitting, panting as Will turns his attention away, digging his nails into Hannibal's hips and pulling him back so that Will can slam deep, feel his soft insides clench and shudder around him. "Good boy," he snarls, as Hannibal moans, and he's not sure which of them he's speaking to, but Hannibal's hips shift, a helpless plea for friction, and Samson's tail thumps dully against the floor.

Will holds him steady, keeping him still as he rocks back, fucking in again, more brutally than normal. Perhaps there is some possessive, exhibitionist streak in him, because mounting Hannibal like this feels different, with Samson's big eyes staring at him. Even though the dog can't possibly understand things like jealousy, not on the level humans do, Will wants Hannibal to moan, to pant and beg for him. Wants to hear him break apart and shudder. Wants to pretend that Samson will understand that no matter how big he is, how good he is, Will is better, and will always be better.

He snarls, loud and sharp enough that Hannibal tenses, trembling beneath him – maybe he's enjoying being watched, too – and Will's nails dig into his sides, claw down his heaving ribs and his sweaty back, and he leans over and bites Hannibal's shoulder, sinks his teeth in as he fucks him, as Hannibal whines and gives breathless little gasps every time Will gets as deep as he can.

Hannibal seizes around him, as Will rolls his hips, and moans weakly as Will brushes over his prostate. Will smiles, sharp and wide, and sinks his fingers down, behind Hannibal's cock, pressing mercilessly at the smooth patch of skin behind his balls, pinching his prostate as Hannibal tenses, lifts his hips, ruts into his touch.

"That's it," he purrs. "Good boy. Such a good little breeder for me."

Hannibal whines, the bench creaking as his shoulders roll, and he tries to lift his head, but can't with the leash keeping him down. Will snarls, grabs his hip with his free hand, and presses deep, coming with a low groan and flooding his boy as deep as he can.

Hannibal lets out a quiet, needy sound – he didn't get enough to come internally, but Will likes him desperate. Likes it when he wants it.

He pulls out, tucks his cock back into his jeans, and fixes Samson with a warning look as he circles Hannibal, and crouches to his heels by his head. He takes Hannibal's face in his hands, admires the flush on his cheeks, his hair flattened with sweat, his lips wet and parted, panting. His eyes, glazed with unmet desire, as they flash and focus on Will.

"Decide now," Will says, softly – he won't punish Hannibal for refusing, of course not. "Samson, or my fingers."

The dog's ears perk up at the sound of his name, and he goes to all fours, licking at his muzzle with a broad, flat tongue.

Hannibal's lashes flutter, and he swallows, ducking his head and pressing his nose to Will's wrist.

"Speak," Will coaxes.

Hannibal swallows again, knuckles white and flexing against the floor. "Samson," he breathes.

Will's head tilts. "Are you sure? It's okay if you say 'No'."

Hannibal nods, and looks at Will, and he wants it. Will can see he wants it. "Please," he whispers, and Will nods, smiling, and kisses Hannibal's forehead, warm and lingering.

Then, he stands, and snaps his fingers. "Samson, come," he says, and the dog woofs, tail wagging wildly as Will leads him to stand between Hannibal's feet. He's large enough that, bent and restrained as he is, his head stands above Hannibal's lifted hips. He noses at Hannibal's thigh, licks the thick trail of Will's seed that has leaked from him, and his tail wags wildly. Will swallows, fingers curling, as he sees the red head of Samson's cock start to slide out from its sheath.

He wraps his fingers in the dog's collar, and pats the bench. "Up, boy," he murmurs, and Samson lurches forward, his forelegs settling on Hannibal's back, sliding down to brace on either side of his flanks, knocking the plug to the floor. Hannibal shivers at the sound of it, and Samson is already rutting, hips jerking forward as he seeks the promise of Hannibal's warm, wet body.

Will smiles, and steps back, wrapping a hand in Hannibal's hair. "He's eager for you, sweetheart," he purrs, and Hannibal whines, lowering his hips, able to feel the slick slide of Samson's cock against his thighs. "I don't blame him – you feel so good on the inside, I know he's just desperate to feel it." The dog huffs, presses forward, and Hannibal is warm, and wet, and loose, and when the sharp tip of his cock finds Hannibal's hole, he slams in with a single brutal thrust.

Hannibal snarls, and Will crouches down in front of him, offering his fingers for Hannibal to bite on as Samson fucks him, hard enough that the bench creaks. Hannibal's eyes are tightly closed, his nostrils flared wide, his jaw bulging at the corners as Samson mounts him – he is not gentle, has no sense of human politeness or propriety, and Will lifts his eyes, sees Samson's front claws scrabble at Hannibal's flanks, holding him steady, the dog's jaws parted and drooling onto Hannibal's back.

He's breathing heavily, they all are, and Hannibal bites down on his knuckles, _hard_ , as Samson huffs, tail raising, going still.

" _Oh_ ," Will breathes, and Hannibal opens his eyes, stares at Will and only Will. Will smiles, pets over his flushed cheek, lashes low. "Relax, baby. Let him in. He's gonna breed you and make sure it all stays inside."

Samson ruts his hips forward with a grunt, and Will knows the second his knot swells, locking them together. Hannibal releases his knuckles with a frantic moan, pawing at Will's shoulders, gasping and wide-eyed, his body tense and trying to rise from the bench, fighting off the dog's weight.

"Ah, no," Will snaps, and wraps a hand in Hannibal's scruff, digging his nails in tightly to the back of his neck. "Let him knot you, sweetheart." Hannibal swallows, jerks his head, but doesn't protest, doesn't safeword. His cock has made a huge mess on the floor and Will smiles, because Hannibal can't hide how much he likes it, how wet and willing he is to be fucked full and bred. "Good boy, that's my sweet boy. Such a good little bitch."

Hannibal's eyes flash, and his upper lip twitches. Will hasn't used that word with him before, because that's not what Hannibal is.

But -. "You're his bitch now, sweetheart," he purrs, just to see Hannibal growl and jerk in his hands. Samson goes still, and collapses with a huff over Hannibal's back, licks over his shoulder in a way that's almost tender. "Gonna give him a whole fucking litter, aren't you?"

Hannibal growls – a meek protest, too fucked-out to really snap his teeth. Will rises, and plants a hand against Hannibal's belly, presses and feels Samson's cock inside him – lower, still, the swell of his knot, pushing against Hannibal's insides until he bulges. Hannibal is warm and heavy with Samson's come, the dog lax and unmoving as he settles inside Hannibal, content to pant and flood him, sated.

Will pets over the dog's head, smiles when Samson huffs and looks up at him. "Good boy," he murmurs, and Samson's tail wags.

He busies himself waiting out Samson's knot by undoing the straps around Hannibal's knees, unfastening the leash, and retrieving the plug from the floor, washing it in the kitchen sink. He returns as Samson straightens, and pulls out of Hannibal with another huff, shaking himself off, and walks out the front door.

Will grins, eyeing Hannibal's abused, gaping hole, the thick rivulets of semen that are cascading down his thighs. He tuts, and flattens a hand on Hannibal's thigh. "That wasn't very gentlemanly of him," he mutters, and slides the plug back in, smiling wide when he sees it just barely stops the flood of what Samson left behind in Hannibal. He pets Hannibal's shaking thighs, his sore hips, up and over his red-lined flanks, and helps Hannibal straighten, before placing him on the floor.

Hannibal is trembling, too overwhelmed to make any noise at all, and Will sighs, gathers him close, and kisses his forehead.

"We don't have to do that again," he promises, petting through Hannibal's sweaty hair. "But thank you."

Hannibal nods, clears his throat, and wraps his arms around Will's torso, nuzzling his neck with a soft whine.

"You deserve a reward," Will breathes, letting Hannibal lick and nip at him, smiling when Hannibal shivers. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out the keychain he always keeps with him – on it is a single key, that fits into the lock on Hannibal's cage.

Hannibal blinks at it, his eyes widening, and he meets Will's eyes, open adoration and eager anticipation flooding his irises and turning them black.

Will cups his face and kisses his forehead, before he fits the key into the lock and carefully undoes the cage, sliding it off of Hannibal's cock, and he sets it on the top of the bench where the dogs won't try and get at it. Hannibal thickens for him immediately, warm and blushing straight through red, to an almost purple color, and he moans and claws at Will as Will wraps a warm hand around him.

"Good boy," Will murmurs, fisting a hand in Hannibal's hair, and pulls him between Will's thighs, letting him hump against his stomach, panting and quivering. "That's it, sweetheart, good boy, come on." And Hannibal groans, going still with a snarl, and bites bluntly at Will's shoulder as he comes, spilling thick and warm over Will's clothed stomach, marking him – something Hannibal always likes to do, both as a dog, and a man.

Will takes the collar from his sweaty neck, kisses his flushed skin, and licks over where his pulse rushes heaviest, guides Hannibal from his shoulder and kisses his mouth, smiling as Hannibal lunges for him, hard enough that they fall against the bed, and he prowls over Will with a snarl, kisses and fucks his softening cock against Will's belly, through the mess he made, and claws at Will's back hard enough to hurt.

Breathes, when they need air; "Don't neuter him."

Will laughs, brows lifting, but whatever he might have said is lost when Hannibal kisses him again, and they don't move for a long while, after that.


End file.
